


Morrigan's Herbs Made Them Do It (for lack of something better)

by theLiterator



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP-- see title for prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morrigan's Herbs Made Them Do It (for lack of something better)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://sea-of-storms.livejournal.com/profile)[**sea_of_storms**](http://sea-of-storms.livejournal.com/) for betaing. All mistakes are mine though, because I can't leave stuff alone.

Zevran woke, feeling suffocated by the sensation of a warm male body rutting against him. Not the worst prospect to wake up to, but the woozy feeling that was keeping him from focusing long enough to determine where he was and who he was with was not reassuring. He reached under his pillow for a knife, but found nothing. Blinking several times in an attempt to clear his head, he tried to twist out from under whoever was pinning him.

"No!" a familiar voice protested. Alistair? "Please… Maker help me, it hurts." Zevran was aware of a similar feeling of painful urgency himself, but...

"It will hurt more, for both of us, if you do not stop right now." His head was fogged, but he was not trying to take his lust out on any warm body. There were some more potent aphrodisiacs that could do this, but to target both him and Alistair?

The most convenient delivery would have been through their food, which would explain why Alistair seemed to be so much more affected than himself. The man ate like a horse. Zevran closed his eyes and prayed that the _other_ Warden would not decide on a similar course of action for relief. _He_ ate twice as much as Alistair on a given night.

"Why?" Alistair almost sobbed with desperation, proceeding to lick down Zevran's spine. "You taste so good. Please, Zevran, I know you don't mind." Zevran shivered at the sensation.

"I _do_, in fact, mind. Now, let me get my bag over there, and I will—"

"No! I know what you keep in there, assassin. I'll not help you to kill me."

Alistair let all of his weight rest on Zevran. The assassin struggled to breathe, struggled to think. His mind was sluggish, like trying to see through the waters of the river Antiva.

"Why would I kill you," he gasped out. "When I have no place else to go?"

Alistair didn't respond, but began attacking Zevran's ear with tongue and teeth. Zevran moaned, tried to push up against the weight holding him down. "Please, Alistair. I promise I will make it good. Just let me get my bag." It was hard to focus, with the heat of a human male above him, and the drug doing its part to overwhelm his better instinct, what few he had to begin with, that it.

Zevran refused to think about what might occur if he couldn't get to his bag of sundries. He just closed his eyes and focused on breathing and not the millions of other things trying to steal his attention. Alistair nibbled on the tip of his ear for a few tense moments, before shifting to bury his face at the junction of Zevran's shoulder and neck.

He was mumbling something against Zevran's skin, desperate and pleading. Zevran squirmed, reached as far as he could towards his bag. "_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting._" Alistair whispered frantically. Zevran caught the strap of the bag, tugged gently so as not to disturb the contents.

"_You have brought Sin to Heaven,_" Alistair moaned against him, thrusting against Zevran once more. Alistair levered a hand between their bodies to remove the scant protection of the blanket. Zevran vowed never to sleep naked again.

"_And doom upon all the world._" _Success_! Zevran pulled the vial he needed from the neatly organized bag, cracked the seal.

"Here," he said, squirming to get his other hand into play, "Let me, Alistair."

"It's awful," Alistair sobbed, clinging to Zevran. "_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked._"

"Shh, Alistair, I'll make it better," Zevran tried to calm the man.

He managed to flip them both, finally. He thought perhaps the drug was wearing off, which would explain Alistair's sudden self-loathing and his own returned faculties. Alistair looked up at him with a look of betrayal on his face. _Damn him for being so expressive, anyway._

Zevran took his time preparing himself, then Alistair, despite the urgency in both of their blood, but it was a miscalculation. Alistair flipped them back over again, used superior strength and the fact that he _wasn't_ fighting the drug to get Zevran face down again. This time, Alistair took care of Zevran's hands, gripping both wrists tightly in one fist and pinning them over his head. Zevran tried to pull free, failed.

"Isn't it awful for you too?" Alistair asked incredulously. Zevran whimpered in response. Blunt, calloused fingers stroked along his spine, then lower. He bucked against the first, tentative intrusion, wanting more, wanting escape.

"I can--please, Zevran, just tell me I can... I need it, I do. Please!" Zevran sucked in a breath, not expecting to be _asked_.

He took the opportunity to inhale deeply, exhale slowly. The world seemed poised on the edge, and maybe it was because it was Alistair doing this, but a half-remembered phrase flashed through his mind _'...awoke at last, in pain and horror...'_ he tried not to flinch at his subconscious reminder that Alistair was as much a victim in all of this as he himself was.

"You may," he said finally. Alistair barely paused, burying himself in Zevran with a guttural cry. Zevran forced himself to relax, to ignore the urgency. He inhaled, and, muscle by muscle, released. Sex is good, and Alistair is not an unpleasant partner--or he wouldn't be, were he sober. Alistair, meanwhile, had fallen into a jerky, stuttering rhythm.

Zevran did his best to match it, restrained as he is, and Alistair, drugged as he is, didn't need much encouragement to come. He collapsed against Zevran's back, breath ragged and shallow.

"Thank you," he mumbled indistinctly into Zevran's hair. It made Zevran feel immensely guilty for some reason, and he refused to attend his own needs, despite the fact that Alistair was already asleep by all appearances.

After a few minutes of increasing urgency and pain-pleasure, he gave in (he was always going to give in). He shifted to lie mostly on his side, and other than a sleepy protest and an arm wrapping around his waist from behind, Alistair didn't appear to care.

The first touch of living flesh against his cock was bliss, and he wondered how Alistair had managed to resist so well. Every touch was like fire, welcome and horrible at once, and like Alistair, it took very little to bring himself to orgasm. He hadn't even caught his breath before he slid into slumber himself.


End file.
